


A Patchwork Brick Road

by exbex



Category: due South
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:44:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several years after COTW, Fraser is retired and married to Janet and living with her in Montana. Life is slower and unexpectedly sweeter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Patchwork Brick Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Azar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar/gifts).



> Azar, I do hope this at least resembles what you wanted to see for these two. I was surprised by the direction this story took, but thank you for providing a lovely prompt.
> 
> Thanks to my life-saving beta ;)

It’s strange, but he misses his father most acutely on crisp autumn days such as this one, when he’s wielding an axe, swinging carefully, relishing the feel of the smooth wood in his hands, the sound of the blade colliding with the wood.

It’s not a task that he and his father ever performed together. Bob Fraser was absent so often that the task of wood-splitting was left to others. But Benton can’t help but feel a bit of melancholy at the thought that his father’s ghost is not standing by to offer cryptic comments about Benton being a ‘kept man’ or some completely irrelevant observation.

Whether it’s worse that he has more memories of his father as a ghost rather than a living man or that he actually longs for something so absurd, Benton isn’t sure.

Ray Kowalski would have something to say on the manner, surely. “I can’t believe this is the highlight of your existence, Fraser,” he’d say with his arms akimbo and his feet fidgeting impatiently. Well, the Ray Kowalski of fifteen years prior would say such a thing. The Ray Kowalski he’d seen only two months ago had lost the fidgety nature with age, and had given his usual grin with his usual greeting of “Still living the dream, huh Frase?” Benton had returned with his own smile and an “Of course, Ray.”

He pauses, now, to think fondly of Ray Kowalski and Francesca Vecchio-Kowalski, juggling their duties of being U.S. Marshalls with the parenting of their twelve-year-old twins, of Ray’s exasperation (one of the remaining character traits of Ray’s that has not diminished entirely with time) over the type of mischief that two intelligent pre-teens of Kowalski-Vecchio DNA convergence could tenaciously and ingeniously find their way into. Fortunately for Ray, and perhaps the rest of the world, the nurturing and no-nonsense Francesca always has things under control.

Benton shakes his head, slightly, to clear his mind in the brisk air. There will be time enough to think on such things later, after the day’s chores are done and he can sit with a cup of tea. It’s a daily ritual of his. His habits these days are borne from a necessity to maintain a routine, to be just busy enough to feel balanced. It’s a far cry from his younger days. Then the routine had been a holdover from duty and a desperate, hidden desire cover the cracks in a carefully constructed façade.

He lets the thoughts drift away as he carefully and methodically stacks the wood in piles. The spasms that send him to his knees on the walk back to the cabin surprise him more than they should. Benton groans as he sinks into the grass, grimacing as he pushes his palms into the ground, slowly sliding his legs behind him so that he’s face-down in the cool grass. He had allowed himself to lose track of his progress as his mind wandered just enough, letting the methodical task lead him into a sort of zen-like state. He had overworked himself and it would be several minutes before he could gingerly lift himself and make his way into the cabin, but there was no point in doing anything other than taking calming breaths and letting his mind drift away from the pain in his lower back.

Benton discovers that it can’t drift far. He thinks on a conversation with Ray Vecchio. “I thought we’d be in opposite places here, Benny,” he’d said, his eyes unwilling to meet Benton’s own as he sat in the chair adjacent to the hospital bed. Later Benton would wonder if the post-surgical painkillers rendered him incapable of appealing to Ray’s sense of logic, or if Benton was gaining some sense and learning to speak a different language, finally learning that his Rays often needed other forms of communication. “You’re a very good detective, Ray. I don’t think I’ve ever told you.”

Ray had looked down at Benton’s fingers gripping the sleeve of his jacket before meeting his eyes, and it was a few moments before it seemed to register. The bullet that had shifted close to Benton’s spine, requiring surgery and an end to his career, was not truly the dreadful harbinger that it’d been labeled for so many years. The same bullet had prevented Benton from making the worst mistake of his life. As much as Benton is not a man to believe in fate, he can’t help but think that, had he not been driven to Chicago to find his father’s killer, an entirely different bullet would have eventually ended more than his career. As it is, he had found that his faith in Ray’s detective abilities were well-founded; there was no need to offer up the reality that he owed Ray for not only his life, but his friendships and his marriage.

Benton shifts gingerly to his side, thinking of Ray and Stella Vecchio, the now-decorated FBI agent and highly respected U.S. attorney. “Can you believe we’re feds, Kowalski?” was Ray Vecchio’s oft-repeated question. Ray Kowalski always answers with a good-natured smirk. “You’re a fed, Vecchio. I’m a lawman.”

“Give me some heat here Lily,” Benton mutters to Diefenbaker’s great-grand-daughter. Though the canine is so mongrelized that she bears little resemblance to her great grandsire, the lineage is unmistakable from the withering look that she gives him. Nonetheless, she obliges and huffs out a small sigh as she reposes behind him, pressing her fur-clad, 102 degree Fahrenheit form up against Benton’s back.

As it is neither freezing nor blistering outside, and as the cool earth is surprisingly soft, Benton nearly drifts to sleep, but the sound of an engine and Lily’s welcoming bark bring him back to the present. Janet is back from work because she forgot something, as she’ll surely claim, or rather because she has no illusions about her need to check up on her husband, as Benton knows.

“Sheriff Fraser,” he calls out and manages a somewhat impish smile.

“Overdid it already today, didn’t we?” she lowers herself next to him, reaching a hand to brush hair from his eyes. This is a gesture, not a necessity, as Benton still keeps his hair regulation short. She is beautiful, looking younger than her years, her eyes showing her strength. Her tone is deceptively light; the last time she had discovered him in such a situation was over a year ago, though it was in in the dead of a northern Montana winter. He had frightened her more than she would let on as he babbled incoherently and kept reaching for her fingers as she tried to help him up.

She’s long forgiven him though, as belied by her slightly teasing tone. She doesn’t try to prevent him from doing the physical labor that leaves him in these situations, and he loves her for it, so much that he is vigilant about safety. He curses himself for his carelessness, but lets her help him up. The pain is already lessening as they make their way indoors and to the bed, where he lays himself face-down. His apology lies unspoken between them, as does her forgiveness.

“You see,” he tries for levity, “unlike you, most of us are not in the prime of life.”

“Flattery’s not your style at all,” she replies as she rubs gentle circles into his back. 

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he replies, and closes his eyes.

“Take it easy the rest of the week, will you? Annie called; she’ll be home from school this weekend. You know she’ll want to go riding with you.”

“Of course,” he replies, his eyes opening. He gives Janet a warm smile, and thinks of how he’s one of the lucky ones. After all, there’s nothing missing from his life.


End file.
